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Twelve days before the Llanelli Half Marathon and two and half years since my last visit, I see my GP. The ongoing cold/cough/lurgy I’ve had since Christmas shows no sign of clearing up any time soon mainly, it turns out, because it’s a chronic sinus infection. I mention my race and receive a long, hard look in return but the GP doesn’t actually tell me not to take part. Race day arrives and the chilly conditions are perfect. I absolutely love this route which is an ‘out and back’ along the coastline beginning and ending at Parc y Scarlets . There’s a great atmosphere and the camaraderie among the runners is fantastic. For the first six and a bit miles I have an absolute blast and clock up excellent times at the 5k and 10k marks… and then, at mile seven, I feel sick and faint. For the first time ever in a race, I wonder if I should retire. A couple of sweets later and I decide I’m well enough to press on. Six miles isn’t so bad, I tell myself, it’s a distance my dear running fri...

Like my last post of 2017 , my first post of 2018 is about a birthday present and a holiday. In Rome, I open my cards to discover that my gift from Lily and Russ, Rose and Si is a four night family break in a fabulous treehouse in the Forest of Dean booked for the end of January. I love New Year and the idea of starting afresh but this year nothing seems to have gone according to plan; at Christmas, I’m struck down with what feels like a never-ending cold and cough, my beloved iMac seizes up and has to go to the MacHospital which in turn sets back the edits I’m working through for a new novella. After a deep, dark wood of a January and a few more trials and tribulations, I can’t wait to set off for our treehouse holiday! And my goodness, it’s brilliant! There’s a luxury cabin large enough to accommodate the little families, and, across a wooden bridge, there’s another small cabin for me and Tom. Oh, and there’s a hot tub! (No photos, you'll be pleased to know.) Two-...

Unfamiliar sounds drift up through the open shutters from the narrow street below; excited Italian voices exchanging greetings, motor scooters sliding over the cobbles and city cars squeezing into non-existent parking spaces. It’s my birthday and I’ve woken up in a dusky pink room with flocked walls, gilt mirrors and I’m in ROME! It’s wonderful! After years of yearning to visit Italy I’ve made it; we’re here! First, I open my birthday cards and have a good cry because everyone’s been so kind to me, then we head up for breakfast in the rooftop restaurant with its amazing panoramic views across the city. There’s rain in the air so we book a bus tour so we can get a sense of the place. As we pass the Colosseum the commentary dryly informs us of the thousands of animals killed here, the 98% mortality rate for gladiators and then observes that the drink enjoyed by spectators would probably be distasteful to modern palates. What? Only the drink? We hop off at the beautiful P...

‘What just happened?’ asks a stunned Rose. I’m speechless. If I had a paper bag, I’d be breathing into it. Rose and baby Joy are staying with us whilst Si and the team are working on their house. Today’s plan is to wander up to the local goat farm, show Joy the goats and maybe buy some Christmas presents in the shop. As it turns out we’re wildly off the mark; it’s true the goats look adorable in their setting of breathtaking scenery, but this isn’t a petting farm. As we discover when we blunder into the office looking for a shop, it’s a serious business selling serious products. In an effort to save face I ask if it’s possible to buy some milk and in ‘lost in a translation’ moment find myself lashing out on the goat equivalent of Dom Perignon White Gold. Back home, I discover that what I’ve bought is a course of Chuckling Goat kefir , a very powerful probiotic designed to restore gut health and repair all the damage caused by sugar, stress, environmental toxins and antibioti...

After a particularly busy few weeks, Tom and I are off to the Fishguard Bay Hotel for afternoon tea thanks to very bargainous deal I’ve spotted on Travelzoo. It’s a beautiful day for a drive and the hotel’s in a wonderful location overlooking the harbour at Goodwick so even if the tea itself is a disappointment, we say to ourselves, we’ll still have a good time. Oh my goodness, what a treat we find waiting for us: service with a smile; a table with a view; a mini-bottle of Prosecco each; melt-in-the-mouth sandwiches; a very generous plate of delicious homemade cakes and as much tea as we can drink. How the hotel can provide such a splendid tea for such a modest sum is beyond me - but I’m certainly keeping a beady eye on those Travelzoo deals from now on! Making the most of a fair weather forecast at last, we make plans to climb Cadair Idris later in the week and walk off all those cakes. We set off just before 7 am and arrive at the car park just as the sun comes up so we’ve...

I’m delighted to tak e part in a blog splash to celebrate the release of the third book in Rhoda Baxter’s award nominated Smart Girls series, Girl in Trouble . I rather thought I’d be putting my feet up and handing the blog over to Rhoda. ‘No,’ said Rhoda, ‘I’d like you to write on a prompt inspired by one of the story threads in Girl in Trouble . Ah. In Rhoda’s novel , both her heroine, Olivia, and Walter, the hero, undergo changes that they feel are bad, but end up being positive. So the prompt I kept returning to was, ‘ Have you ever had a blessing in disguise?’ Like everyone, I’ve had some truly bad, downright difficult and unbearably sad times which have led to changes in my life. Losing Dad was a turning point which gave me the impetus to compete a novel, but I’d give all of my writing success, such as it is, to have a single day with him again. Other turning points are just too raw or too personal for public consumption and then I thought about something that’s happened...

After ominous forecasts for strong winds , race day dawns with cool temperatures, persistent drizzle but no wind. Hurrah! Tom and Ma head off to secure a good spot to watch the runners and I walk through Cardiff in my running gear, an old jumper to keep me warm and a tent-like rain poncho. There’s half an hour to go before I can enter my race pen, forty-five minutes before the elite runners set off. I faff around for a bit, skipping and stretching, brave the portaloos which are surprisingly ok and leave my jumper and poncho to be recycled. Then it’s time to take up my position in my pen. This point - the long wait for the starting klaxon - is a time for reflection. I think about Dad, I think about other families who have lost loved ones to pancreatic cancer, I think about my grandchildren and the future. I worry about how vulnerable we all are, some 20,000 runners and the spectators who’ve turned out on this damp day. I fret about about an outbreak of runners trots. AND THEN ...